When you dance
by YellowRosesAndHearts
Summary: Our two favorite detectives dancing. EO attraction, no romance, Elliot's still with Kathy.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this had been existing on two little scraps of paper for a few months now. I think that you can tell a lot about two people's dynamic by watching them dance. So this is a plotless fic about our favorite detectives dancing at a work party early in their partnership. EO attraction, sexual tension, all that good stuff, but Elliot's married, so no real romance.**

**Disclaimer: I did own them, but I lent them to someone who gave them back to Dick Wolf, so they aren't mine. (But I'm working on it!)**

You wouldn't think so, but somehow the fact that she dances fits into her puzzle. She's my partner, and despite the fact that she is only three years my junior, she seems so young. Maybe it's her vibrance, her spirit—so bright and so obvious, that on some days, it could belong to a teenager. She's had a haunted past, that much I know, but you wouldn't know it half the time. Munch says that that's what adds to her intrigue. I don't know if that's true, but Olivia sure has a lot of it. Intrigue, that is.

She told me that it was the first work party she had ever been to, and I assured her that she was blending in. Actually, it was a lie—in that flowy blue dress she was anything but just another woman in the place. The high heeled shoes she wore clicked when she walked, something that Kathy said was a big deal to women. Everywhere Liv went that night, a cloud of male attention followed her—every guy under fifty was eyeing her off to the side, obviously dying for just one dance with her. She was poised in that feminine way, dancing once with her admirers, but never twice.

Kathy wasn't with me that night. She had a reunion at one of her old friends' houses, and Cragen had told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to miss this party even had to sell some body parts to get there. I think she felt guilty for not coming, because she put her hand on my shoulder, and said, "Don't have a shitty time because I'm not there. I won't have Munch and Olivia calling me about how you can't handle yourself without someone watching you." Still, I wasn't upset. Both if us never got to go out, so neither of us was getting a bad deal here.

I asked Liv to dance about half way through the night—after she'd danced with ten to a dozen starry eyed rookies, plus Munch, so that he couldn't deride me for it. He liked to remind me that I didn't always see Olivia as being completely sexless. I was aware of Liv sure, but I loved Kathy, and there was no way I would ever cheat on her, so no harm, no foul.

When I did finally ask her, Olivia gave me an incredulous look before placing her hand in the crook of my arm. The song was a slow one, and I kept one had on her hip, and held her left with the other one.

"Didn't take you for a dancer, Stabler. Never comes out at work."

"I can't really show off my dancing skills with the perps can I? They'd think I was soft."

"Elliot Stabler, model alpha male."

"Damn straight."

I spun her around, lacing my fingers through hers, and brought her closer. I noticed that she moved smoothly and intimately with the music, no effort involved. This was superwoman Detective Benson at her most explosive; feminine and beautiful, but still packing enough punch to knock you out if you pissed her off. And even I, at six foot one, and over fifty pounds heavier that her, would not want to cross her on a bad day.

Her pretty face was sporting a small smile, and I felt damn accomplished to have been the one to put it there. She locked my eyes with her, and I didn't look away like I normally would have. I just couldn't make myself. Her eyes were the perfect color of Hershey's chocolate, and she had little crinkles at the side when she was genuinely happy.

Apparently, she was happy now.

My thoughts catapulted across the spectrum of purity, and I found myself watching her body, more closely that I ever had. I'd noticed before that she had wide hips, but the effect was tripled in the clingy blue silk. The neckline glided low to reveal her, well, cleavage, and as much as I tried to discipline myself not to look at it, I couldn't help myself. I'm Catholic, but Christ, I'm not going for sainthood here. My hand traveled up from her hip to rest on her waist; firm enough that I knew she worked out, but soft enough that I knew it wasn't all she did.

She looked up at me, flipping her dark hair out of her eyes, and gave me that Olivia- knows- all look, then as smile, and a shake of the head to let me know she was enjoying the moment too.

My hand took on a life of its own, wandering it's way over her shoulder, and then though I knew I shouldn't I found myself absently caressing her cheek with my thumb.

I watched her, this superwoman, and I wondered how the hell she could possibly still be single. I decided that it had to be by choice, because there had to be something wrong with any single, straight, adult male, who wasn't attracted to her. It had to be some kind of obscure genetic mutation.

The song gradually became faster, and her hips moved with mine, she twisted elegantly back and forth, and laced her fingers in and out of mine. When all this was over, I'd go home to my wife, whom I adored, my job, which I depended on, and my kids, whom I lived for.

But for that moment, I was enjoying watching Liv dance.

_When you dance you have a way with me_

_Stay with me, stay with me._

**Review, please. I wasn't so sure about this one.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided that it wouldn't kill me to write a chapter two. Same scene from Olivia's POV. I mention something in the season one show "A single life" but it's only a sentence. Other than that, it's pretty self explanatory.**

**DISCLAIMER—Not mine. But, as I said in my story contact, I am right now planning a large scale kidnapping, and anyone interested in helping should hit me up.**

The fact that he's married tops the extremely long list why I shouldn't be feeling like this. Obviously, there are other important reasons, too—the teensy weensy little fact that we're partners, the fact that I'm unable to carry on a reasonably stable relationship anyway, and the fact that we're complete opposites are all contenders for the number one spot on my guilt list. But the fact that he's married, and has four children with his wife of fifteen years is always the detail that holds me back. I'm a lot of things, but a home wrecker isn't one of them.

Strangely, I'm not jealous of Kathy, even though she has what I want. I'm jealous of Elliot. We live the exact same life at work, see the exact same things, have the exact same nightmares. But the difference is that he has a place to go when it's all over. A home base, if you will. And even though he almost never spends any time there, I'm sure that it's comforting to have. I've never had that, and now, approaching thirty five with more one night stands than actual dates, I'm quite sure that I never will.

I turn to find him watching me from across the room. Seeing me, he jerks his head away so fast that I'm sure he has to have gotten a nasty bout of whitflash in his neck. This is a dance that we've done many times before—he'll stare at me, and I'll catch him at it, I'll ask him what's up, and he'll just say "Nothing" before turning his attention to something else. It happened a lot when we were investigating the homicide of that woman who lived alone and was sleeping with her shrink. He'd stare, I'd ask, and he'd never bother to give me a reason. And then, some time later, I'd catch him at it again.

Kathy's not here with him tonight. He said that she has a reunion over one of her friends' houses, and couldn't make it. And Cragen, who wants us to make nice with the Feds and IAB, wouldn't tolerate either one of us missing the party short of a national emergency.

The men are flocking me over my dress—it's pale blue, and maybe a bit showy, but I only have two actual dresses in my closet. And the other one is the short black one that I wear to clubs a lot when I'm looking for an ego boost. Shopping has never been my forte.

After the first man, a middle aged Computer crimes guy with a potbelly asked me to dance and I accepted, the other men in the place seemed to decide that I wouldn't nail them in the nuts for trying. And so I danced—not well, mind you, but danced—once with everyone who asked me. Twice sends the wrong message. There are so many damned people to mingle with here that it's weird to spend a lot of time with only one person.

After the last guy, a Narc rookie named Tyler left, I danced once with John. Munch is one of my favorite people that I've met in the NYPD since I started a few months ago. Besides Elliot, he's one of the few men that I know who can make me think. And I appreciate his barbed wit a lot more than I give him credit for.

And when that dance ended, I left the floor to get myself some punch and take a breather. But of course that never happened. Because no sooner than when I began to dip the big spoon in the punch bowl did Elliot come up to me, and asked me, his voice tentative, whether I wanted to dance. The uncertainty in his voice made me want to hug him for it. What did he honestly think I would say? No? Had he not been watching me for the past few months at all?

I decided not to torture him, and instead let him lead me out. The song was slow, and Elliot easily assumed the position, one hand on my hip, the other holding mine. He moved easily with the music, almost smiling, as he led me back and forth. And a dance floor was the only thing in the world I would let a man lead me around.

"Didn't take you for a dancer, Stabler. Never comes out at work."

A chuckle from him. "I can't show off my dancing skills with the perps, can I? They'd think I was soft."

"Elliot Stabler, model alpha male."

"Damn straight."

He spun me away from him, clinging to my fingers, before bringing me back again. And this time, even closer than before. Not touching, mind you—but bodies skimming each others. Close enough for me to feel his body warmth, yet too far for me to feel the heat. His icy blue eyes stared into mine for a second, permeating me, making me feel exposed and almost naked. But Elliot was good at that. Just one glance, and he could convey what normal people would spend a hundred words on.

His hands began to roam, but somehow, not in any tasteless or tactless way, not touching anything out of bounds—just a need to know, to explore; a need that I was sure was magnified a hundred times over in myself. And I subconsciously stepped closer, until the buttons of his shirt grazed with my dress. I felt his breath on the back of my neck as his hands worked their way to my waist, to my sides, and up my back between my shoulder blades.

And suddenly I became aware that my thoughts had transcended professional admiration, and now sat right in the middle of blatant sexual attraction. And that thought was scary as all hell.

I untangled myself just an inch, and granted myself entrance into his blue eyes. His hand moved its way over my shoulder, and then he was caressing my cheek with his thumb; so absently that it could have been by accident. But I found myself praying to a god I didn't believe in that it wasn't.

It was a good thing that the song ended right there, because I wasn't sure how much longer my self control would hold. The next song was a faster one, and Elliot managed to become the only man in the place to make me break my one dance rule. And when the next song played I broke it again, and again, and again—for the rest of the night.

**So that's it. I'm not great at writing UST or any sexual tension, really, but it's oh-so fun. Anyway, hit that nice little purple button and review if you like. A small price, and you will receive my undying love. That's worth it, right?**


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